


gross.txt

by Arachnia



Category: Wreck-It Ralph (2012)
Genre: Gen, Vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:52:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arachnia/pseuds/Arachnia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turbo is unfortunately proned to motion sickness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	gross.txt

**Author's Note:**

> For a pretty princess who requested Turbo being gross and sick. It's all I accept in this life.

"He's gone, right? For the love of fuck, say he's gone."

"He's gone, Turbo."

Turbo let his smile drop and threw the trophy down. "F-fucking. Fucking great." Turbo jumped off the winner's platform and held his stomach. God, what a nightmare. Eight god-damn-mother-fucking-hours of a birthday party with a bunch of five year olds jerking his car around, fighting over the controls, non-goddamn-stop, twisting his car all over the place and making him dizzy as hell. Then he had to do the winning animations with the biggest fucking fake grin on his face, "jokingly" shoving his opponents out of the way, and go back to the kart.

For breakfast, Turbo drank a beer, another beer, then maybe a piece of toast. He managed to sneak off to lunch for half a cherry, and all this was fighting right back up his throat.

"You alright?" One-half of the Turbotwins asked, taking off his helmet. Turbo glared.

"God, no." He made a wretching noise and breathed in deep, feeling bile rise up his throat. He fought it back down and sighed. "Head to Tappers without me, I need to lie down for a second."

The other twin raised an eyebrow (They'd taken names, he was pretty sure, but fuck if he'd ever remember them). "You sure, brother? We can wait."

Turbo lurched over again and gave a wheezing laugh. "Fuckin' god, you're hanging around Felix too much. Go, alright?"

Both of the twins exchanged a nervous look before leaving. Thank god. Turbo leaned his back against the platform and gagged. He slapped a hand against his mouth. He'd been racing for almost 2 years and he still got motion sickness. Fucking pathetic.

He doubled over and felt vomit force itself up his throat, acid and bile flooding in his mouth and he tried to swallow back but he just gagged hard on taste alone and he probably should just give the fuck up and let it happen, shouldn't he.

He opened his mouth and let it pour and pool on the ground, tears starting to blur his vision. He coughed and choked, burning smell filling his nose, before wretching again, hacking up the last bits of his meal into a puddle on the ground. "Fuck," he croaked, spitting up a chunk of toast. Turbo tried to push himself from the platform and fell back, clutching his aching stomach again. God, he was light-headed. Things were spinning and he wasn't entirely positive he was swaying, but maybe 90% sure.

He leaned down and spit some of the bitter taste out of his mouth. Son of a bitch, he was going to have to clean that up. He spit one final time onto the ground and groaned. 

Time to get moving. He took off his helmet and ran a hand through his matted hair. He didn't feel a damn bit better, but last thing he wanted to do was sit in front of his vomit and feel sorry for himself. Just needed to stuff some food in his throat. Or drink. Lots of drink.

Turbo glanced behind him and turned on unsteady feet, and started to yank the platform back. This was fucking genius right here. Just a couple of pulls and the puddle of gross was all but invisible. Sure, fell on his ass a few times, but it was a small price to pay for not having to break out the mop and bucket for his mess.

He grinned and wiped his sweaty palms on racing suit before setting out. Tappers, here he comes!


End file.
